


First Time

by kangaji (chocomalt)



Series: Dreamer [1]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: F/M, First Time, you're an actress?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-18 21:37:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19343137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chocomalt/pseuds/kangaji
Summary: Dokyeom--his real name was Lee Seokmin. He wasn't a doppelganger. I was certain it was him.





	First Time

I've dozed off again. I could tell. There was no way that this could in any way be real. I recognized his face too well to even question whether the man in front of me was simply a look-a-like.

Dokyeom—his real name was Lee Seokmin. He wasn't a doppelgänger, I was certain it was him.

"H-hi?"

If he hadn't noticed my presence before, he certainly did now. I was taken aback by the smile he greeted me with. I had expected a look of disdain, or even borderline discomfort, that would be coupled with an assumption that I was a crazy stalker fan who had managed to sneak in. This look of—genuine acceptance was definitely strange.

"Please take care of me," he smiled.

 _Excuse me?_ And why on Earth did I have to do that?

"Don't be nervous, we'll guide you through the scene." A cold hand tapped my elbow and my attention was taken by the ahjussi that looked awfully like a—director. He was equipped with his own headset and a clipboard of papers filled with pictured squares.

What on Earth—?

I scanned the surroundings but my eyes stopped at an obstacle that had not been present earlier.

_Shirtless Dokyeom._

_"_ W-What are y—?"

The suddenness of my question raised his attention and he glanced back at me bashfully. Why was he—?  _Was he shy?_

 _"_ Ah... I'm a little embarrassed."

He smiled brightly before breathing a nervous chuckle.

"We're ready." A pretty lady pointed to a white room with bright lights, and I followed without questioning. For some reason, I wasn't afraid at all.

It was a dressing room.

"E-excuse me—"

"Ah, please remove everything but your underwear and put this on." The lady handed me a bathrobe and walked away before I could question her. I was left alone with the panic that had finally settled in.  _What on Earth—?_

"Please standby in 10 minutes!"

I stripped, wrapping myself in the soft white fabric, and huddling the ends close to avoid bare skin exposure. And just in time too because the lady returned and dragged me out into the open. 

My eyes met his. No, not the director's. The other guy's—that I had mentioned earlier—

"Dokyeom-ssi?"

"Ah, yes." He broke off his gaze away from mine and listened attentively. The beating of the organ in my chest was deafening, and at most, I could only hear parts of their conversation.

"First time..."

_What could those words be associated with besides—? No way!_

"It's okay _—_ nervous—experience—"

I was awfully calm. The longer I registered that I was in fact in this dark-ish room, crowded with camera equipment and people, the less it felt as though it was a foreign setting.  _Had I adapted that quickly?_

Soon enough, I felt comfortable—excited even. The lighting dimmed and I could see our shadows on the wall in front of me—just mine and his. The scent of fabric softener infiltrated my nostrils. It was coming from—the bed.  _The bed?_

I watched him swallow. My mind yelled a thousand warnings to keep my eyes on the motion of his Adam's apple—to not trail downwards. But it was as if my thoughts had its own eyes. I could picture his bare torso in the depths of my memory from earlier.

_Breathe..._

"Will you help me?"

Instinctively, I nodded. His stare was intense. His question was almost too sincere.  _First kiss?_ I wrapped my hands slowly around the back of his neck, realizing that the height difference between was already registered in my intuition. I kissed him lightly, and felt the slight jolt of his surprise. A gentle grunt—it was sloppy. He adjusted perfectly, leaning into me. But I pulled away just before he could settle. He looked flushed. That was the first thing I noticed.

His lips parted but no words followed. He sat down on the bed and I kept my eyes on him. We were silent. I moved first and slumped down beside him.

He grabbed my hand, as if to hold me in place. Using his lips as a secondary marker, he kissed me again slowly. It lasted longer—as if he had fallen into it. It didn't feel like acting.

_Even though it was._

I pushed him down onto the bed. It wasn't soft—but it wasn't wild or rabid either. I was too focused on him—so focused that I only noticed the way his hair frayed out as he sank into the pillows, peering at me with a look of pure wonderlust.

Our actions felt directed. He pulled me onto him and our lips met again. I wrapped my arms around him and hummed pleasantly at the sudden heat that reached my skin. He moved his lips against mine—much more elegantly than previously. His movements felt much more certain. It drew me into everything about him—his taste, his touch, his scent. He learned quickly, adjusting the pressure between our sealed lips.

The angle wasn't perfect. Something tugged at my insides to make an adjustment. I pulled him on top of me, and he followed without resistance. It was easier this way—with the covers barely concealing his bare back.

"How was that?"

He asked me the question so perfectly, voice laced with desperation and need as if it wasn't just another line from a script—except that it was.

I finally understood the story. His character was in love with mine, and in an attempt to satisfy some growing ache for me both emotionally and physically, he had preserved himself and used it as an excuse.  _An idol turned actor asking his first love to help him perfect his career's most challenging scene yet._ It was inception—a scene within a scene, within a scene.

I wasn't acting out of breath. It was very real. The skin exposure to the different temperatures around me was proof—the bed was warm, as if it absorbed the heat of our interactions, the air was cold, despite only a few inches of skin being exposed to it, his body was hot... every expanse of his skin in contact with my own felt like fire. It was like being burned except the effects weren't carbonation, but drunkenness. My courage was gripping onto the sheets of control, tearing straight into it. I wanted more—

"Let's do it one more time."

Acting was like mind-reading. If you knew the script, then you knew exactly what was coming. Good acting, however, was a different matter. Despite knowing that his last remark was inevitably the next line on a sheet of paper—I was surprised. Not just my character, but my actual self was stunned speechless by his words. It was no longer acting.

I sat up. He watched my every moving, keeping his eyes fixed on my face—pleading something.  _What did it look like he wanted?_ He pulled me back, wrapping his arms around my whole torso. I couldn't see his face, but I could feel the warmth emanating from his entire being. The heat was begging me to stay, and as if that wasn't enough...

"When you look at me with those eyes, it makes me want to give love to you—"

I was back. A different bed, a different ceiling, a different world—this was my reality. Of course, he wasn't real. There was no way he could be. When I opened my eyes, I already knew that he wouldn't be there but still, I hoped.

I hoped and hoped, but even the scent was faded. The heat turned chilly, and the silence became burdensome. I was alone. No one was here, and no one ever was. Everything, including him, was just only a dream.

* * *


End file.
